


kinship

by soulofme



Series: sheith sentence prompts [15]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:46:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15356553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: “You’re not going to kill me.”“You sound sure of that.”“Of course I am,” Keith says, standing up and leaning across the counter. He’s close enough that Shiro can feel him breathing against his lips. “You said so yourself.”





	kinship

**Author's Note:**

> sentence prompt 51: it's about to rain, get inside.

He’s coming home from a late shift when he spots him.

The kid’s leaning against the railing, face bruised to hell. He doesn’t look at him, not even when Shiro’s headlights shine right into his eyes. He slows the car to a stop and rolls down the window, leaning towards the passenger side.

The kid cocks a brow at him but doesn’t say a word. He’s got a sharp jaw but he’s young, too young to be prowling the streets like some kind of criminal. The thought makes Shiro smile. The kid narrows his eyes at him—dark, though they look almost violet—and he looks more than a little distrustful. He shifts and Shiro catches the glint of a knife peeking out of his waistband.

Shiro’s not so easily deterred.

“Rough night?” he asks. The kid tilts his head to the side and regards him coolly.

“Something like that,” he mutters. He drums his fingers against his crossed arms. “You?”

“Something like that,” he echoes. He jerks his chin towards the kid’s face. “Those look kinda nasty.”

“I’ve had worse,” the kid says decisively. Shiro shrugs.

“Wouldn’t hurt to get it looked at,” he offers. “It’s about to rain. Get inside.”

“You want me to go with you?” the kid saunters over to the open window and crosses his arms over it, leaning into the truck. “How do I know you won’t murder me?”

Excitement crawls up Shiro’s spine, his blood singing in his veins.

“Guess you’ll have to trust me,” he says, flicking the lock up.

The kid scoffs and yanks open the door. Shiro waits until he’s settled before he pulls away from the curb.

“What’s your name?” he asks. The kid stops picking loose threads off of his gloves before he grins. There’s something oddly predatory about it.

“Keith,” he says. “You?”

“Shiro.”

“Shiro,” Keith says it like he’s testing the weight of it on his tongue. “Nice to meet you, _Shiro_.”

Shiro smirks and tightens his grip around the wheel.

“Likewise.”

“It’s kinda late to be out, huh?” Keith asks after a few moments, leaning his elbow against the door. He rests his cheek on his fist and keeps his eyes on Shiro. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Don’t you?” Shiro counters, snickering. “Your mother never told you about going out late at night?”

“She knows I can handle myself.”

There’s a story behind that, one that Shiro is eager to hear. But for now, he forces himself to play it cool.

“That what you call it?” Shiro murmurs, sneaking a glance at Keith’s face. He doesn’t miss the flinch that crosses over his expression as he shifts in his seat. “What happened, anyway?”

“Some assholes at a bar,” Keith answers. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I won.”

“If that’s what you look like, I’d hate to see them,” Shiro says. Keith shrugs.

“Maybe you will,” he says. He sits up straight then, and Shiro turns to him in concern. Keith’s eyes are glued to his right arm, on the metal peeking out of his sleeve.

“It’s a prosthetic,” Shiro supplies after a few seconds. “The army set me up after a mission gone wrong.”

“You still in?” Keith asks.

“Nah,” Shiro replies. “Honorable discharge a few years back. I’m trying to remember how to be human now.”

“Huh,” Keith says. He doesn’t add anything else.

They lapse into silence then. Shiro pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine. Keith hops out, slamming the door behind him. Shiro takes a few moments to collect himself before he follows, twirling his keys around his ring finger.

“Nice place,” Keith says, crossing his arms as he kicks at a pebble on Shiro’s porch. “Sure you’re not gonna kill me in it?”

“Positive,” Shiro says.

He’s not. Really. Shiro has no reason to kill him. Not at the moment.

But Keith doesn’t pick up on that. He’s not the first. People tend to be blinded by his charm. His mother used to say he could sell a glass of water to a drowning man. People trust him, no matter how long they’ve known him for, and Shiro thrives off that.

Keith, he thinks, is no different.

He gets the door open and waits for Keith to step in before he follows. He tosses his keys into the bowl on the side table and shrugs off his coat.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hall. “I’ve just gotta get some things.”

“Sure, sure,” Keith says, waving him off as he circles around the couch.

Shiro grabs the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet and the peroxide from beneath the sink. Keith’s sitting with his head tilted against the back of the couch when he enters the living room. He’s got his feet propped up onto the coffee table and grins when he catches sight of Shiro.

“That was quick.”

“I like to stay organized,” Shiro responds. He kneels down beside Keith and opens the box. “Where’d they get you?”

“Everywhere,” Keith says with a snort. “My ribs aren’t broken though.”

Shiro grins. “Got lucky this time?”

“Yeah, guess so,” Keith says, shaking his head. He points at his face. “Do your worst.”

Shiro dabs a cotton ball into peroxide and cleans the blood off Keith’s face. He’s scratched up but it’s nothing too bad. No stiches, thankfully. He’s got some bruising around his nose, but when Shiro presses his fingers against it the bone feels intact.

“Good news,” he says, packing away the kit. “Nothing’s broken. You’re bruised to hell, but you’ll live.”

“Thanks, doc.” Keith stretches out and crosses his arms behind his head.

Shiro sets the kit aside and leans back against the table. Keith arches a brow at him.

“What?”

Shiro rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. “You use that knife on them?”

One of Keith’s hands drift down to his waist. He brushes a finger over the hilt of his knife.

“It was a gift,” he murmurs. “Would’ve been rude not to.”

Keith sits up and reaches for Shiro’s metal hand. He rubs his thumb against one of the grooves, grinning triumphantly when he finds blood caked beneath his fingernail.

“You use this on her?” Keith asks, jerking his chin towards the closet door.

Shiro smirks.

“You’ve been exploring.”

“I was curious,” Keith says, dropping Shiro’s hand and leaning back again. He keeps one foot on the table and the other planted on the ground, tapping occasionally.

“You know what they say about curiosity,” Shiro answers. Keith shrugs.

“I’m sure you know what they say about satisfaction.”

Shiro tries not to smile.

“You’re being awfully calm about this.”

“We’re not that different, Shiro.” Keith thrums his fingers on the cushion beside him.

“It wasn’t a bar fight, was it?”

Keith whistles lowly. “I don’t go looking for trouble. It just has a way of finding me.”

“Not your first time, huh?” Shiro says, standing. “Want some tea?”

“Nah. Can’t be sure it’s not spiked,” Keith replies sweetly. “What about you? Was she your first?”

“In a while,” Shiro says, grabbing the kettle from the cabinet and filling it with water. He hears more than sees Keith shuffling into the kitchen. “I’m trying to get better.”

“A killer with a conscience,” Keith says, awed. “I was starting to think those didn’t exist.”

Shiro leans against the counter and stares down at Keith. He meets his eyes straight on, not an ounce of fear in them.

“You know,” he starts conversationally. “Things didn’t end up so well for the last person I brought here.”

“You’re not going to kill me.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“Of course I am,” Keith says, standing up and leaning across the counter. He’s close enough that Shiro can feel him breathing against his lips. “You said so yourself.”

It's abundantly clear what Keith wants. Shiro would be blind to not see it. But he doesn't want to go in for the kill (not literally, of course) just yet. He has a feeling that they'll be seeing a lot of each other.

“I am a man of my word,” he says, stepping back. He bites back a grin at Keith’s frustrated expression.

“Good to know,” Keith says. He clears his throat and steps back from the counter. “I should go.”

“Got someone waiting on you?”

“A nosy roommate who’ll be up soon,” Keith says. He gives Shiro a two-fingered salute. “Until next time.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, watching him walk away. A spike of heat curls in his stomach. “Next time.”


End file.
